


Wedding Night (I'm a Slave 4 U)

by Pie (potteresque_ire)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, F/M, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-28
Updated: 2008-11-28
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:17:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potteresque_ire/pseuds/Pie
Summary: Written for the challenge prompt:Scarred by Dobby's death, Harry makes a dramatic statement by taking a house-elf bride, with the goal of making a friend's fandom departure easier. Brain bleach worthy. Please proceed at your own risk.





	Wedding Night (I'm a Slave 4 U)

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008, for Pushdragon's drabblefest.

“Wait.” Harry was breathless. The Room of Requirement was materializing before him slowly.  
  
Far too slowly …  
  
Winky, God, his Winky, had already set off to work. Her mouth, perfectly aligned to his opened zippers, was sending delicate puffs of hot air on his erection.  
  
“Winky lives to serve her Master.” Harry’s new bride was a portrait of innocence. Looking up in sheer admiration with her tennis-ball eyes, her lips parted and took in Harry’s cock. The fit was snug; Harry could sense the elf’s wrinkled skin extended deep into her mouth and – as she moved closer – down her throat as well. He let out a moan.  
  
The newly-weds not so much walked as tumbled into the Room.  
  
The bride’s wedding gown threatened to fall apart, and a smudge of black peered from beneath the layers of rags and socks – was that a nipple? Soot? A leftover berry from last evening’s pie?  
  
Harry was incredibly turned on. He crawled onto the bed on all fours, freeing his trousers on the way. He wasn’t wearing any pants - the pair that went to laundry yesterday had become Winky’s bridal train –  _something old, something borrowed, something blue_. As for the something new …  
  
God, Harry shouldn’t be thinking about it now.  
  
For there was something more urgent, a fantasy that Harry could not stop dreaming about since Dobby’s passing. Tonight would be the night to live it.  
  
“Winky. Come here.”  
  
A loud  _pop_ , and Winky Apparated to his side. “Yes, Master?” she asked, as she grabbed one of the many bottles of butterbeer on the nightstand and guzzled it down; her breath became sweet, and so unbearably hot.  
  
Harry closed his eyes for a moment. This was too much. He feared that if he looked on any longer, everything would turn out to be no more than a figment of his imagination. A daydream. All he could do, instead, was to reach out to touch the one thing he had wanted for so long. His fingers caressed the length of his wife’s pencil-thin nose before closing for a tight grip. Did she know how desperate he was?  
  
He took a deep breath. “I command you, Winky,” he whispered, “to put this … inside me.”  
  
“Master’s wish is Winky’s command,” his obedient wife squeaked, only to freeze, throw the bottle against her own head and whimper. “Sir, Winky doesn’t know, how Winky must put her nose inside the Great Harry Potter.”  
  
“Please, call me Harry,” Harry smiled and played with her droopy ears, perfectly ironed for the wedding day, “and do it as you would … stuff a turkey. Meanwhile,” his hand returned to Winky’s nose and rubbed gently along its length, “continue with what you're doing just now.”  
  
Only then did he realize “we need lube.”  
  
Winky blinked at him.  
  
“That’s oil, Winky. This Room must have it somewhere –“ He was about to get up, but then Winky climbed on him and said, “Winky has oil.”  
  
From the depths of her wedding gown she pulled out a sock. Harry recognised it as the black, slimy one he had used to set Dobby free. She squeezed it. Indeed, something looking rather like oil oozed out.  
  
“Good Winky.” Even his chest monster was purring – there would be so many sunlit days that they would spend together.  
  
But then, thoughts about the future, the present and everything else fled from Harry when Winky set out to act upon his orders. He felt her hands, so strong for their tiny size, pulled his arse cheeks apart and brushed the oil on his entrance; then her nose, which she inserted with ease, hit the spot almost at the same instant and proceeded to stuff him all the way.  
  
All the way, to a state of absolute fulfillment.  
  
Harry had never felt so complete, until the warm, wrinkled mouth swallowed his cock again.  
  
Winky was skilled. Beyond skilled. A natural.  
  
Harry’s mind turned to a frenzy. How he envied all the turkeys Winky had prepared! He could see them all – legs spread, filled and thoroughly debauched – just like himself at the moment.  
  
That image pushed him to the edge. He came.  
  
Winky wiped both of them clean with her wedding gown as Harry watched her, feeling boneless and satiated. It was time for him to repay her, he thought, to show her his love, to show her how much he adored and appreciated her. He patted the mattress beside him to beckon her over.  
  
Slowly, he pushed the now sodden wedding dress up her thighs. She looked away. Could she be a virgin? Harry realized he had never found out how house-elves procreate.  
  
Well, he would learn about it soon.  
  
The slender legs in his hands reminded Harry of those Ron had devoured in the start-of-term feasts. His best pal certainly had good taste; but, Harry thought smugly, those legs couldn’t hold a candle to these ones.  
  
The  _something new_  buckled on the thighs almost made Harry hard again – it was a pair of stocking suspenders, the same pair Harry had offered to his then girlfriend when he’d lay flat on the Quidditch Pitch, asking for her hand. Winky had said yes, of course. How could an elf resist anything to do with socks?  
  
With his teeth, Harry began to pull the suspenders down. He pictured how Ron used to attack the chicken legs – digging his teeth in, nibbling just a little, then tearing them away with slow, fiery intensity. Obscured by the dress and his underpants, Winky’s face was hidden from him. But he could hear the low sobs. “Please, Master. Please …”  
  
Oh, how Harry loved to hear her beg!  
  
He felt obliged to indulge her further. There would be bite marks on her tomorrow, if they would show on the storm-grey flesh, and these suspenders would make up the fondest memories of her life. Giving the elastic band a snap with his teeth, he yanked the stockings down.  
  
That was the second last thing he knew. In the next moment, there was a shout of “NOT MY SOCKS, YOU BITCH!” and an ear-shattering crash of a butterbeer bottle – against his own head.  
  
Then, everything went dark.  


 

* * *

  
  
There was a new grave beside Dobby’s in the backyard of Shell cottage. While Dobby’s was always buried under fresh flowers and socks, this one was barren, and the inscription on the tombstone could clearly be seen.  


 

**Here lies Winky – A Criminal Elf**  
**Executed 2001 for murdering her Master**

  
  
_~ Fin_

 

 


End file.
